


From Overtime to Honest Hips

by holmes221b



Category: Kiss Kiss Bang Bang
Genre: Alcohol, Loss of inhibitions, M/M, author doesn't understand sexuality, or sex either, some vaguely homophobic phrasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-05
Updated: 2010-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-09 08:05:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holmes221b/pseuds/holmes221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alcohol can be a truth serum when you least expect it to...Written for lgbtfest 2010, in response to the following prompt: "Harry comes out to Perry while drunk."</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Overtime to Honest Hips

**Author's Note:**

> Kiss Kiss Bang Bang belongs to someone not me. Tony Morales belongs to the ever wonderful ratchan on livejournal. All of the other OC's belong to me.

_-Hi, Harry Lockhart here. I'll be your narrator for--FUCK! What was that for?!  
-That was for implying that you were narrating this story by yourself, Harry.  
-Sorry, Holmes. Why don't you fucking go ahead and introduce yourself then?  
-Gladly. I'm Valerie Holmes, for those of you who were wondering who Harry was talking to just now.  
-Now that that is fucking over with, where to begin?  
-I know exactly where to begin, Harry. May I?_

Valerie Holmes looked longingly out of the window at the lovely spring day.  
"You don't have to stay, Holmes," her boss, Perry Van Shrike, pointed out.  
Forcing her attention back onto her computer screen, Holmes replied, "I need the extra cash--you _are_ paying me overtime for working on a Sunday, right?"  
Perry chuckled at Holmes' bold disrespect.  
"Oh!" Holmes softly exclaimed as her computer beeped at her.  
"What is it?" Perry asked, coming around the receptionist's desk to look at her computer screen from over her shoulder.  
"You were right, he does have priors," she replied, indicating a block of text displayed on her screen.  
"Email everything you found on the man to Morales," Perry replied, "the police are better equipped to deal with this guy than we are."  
"Not to mention the fact that we have a party to attend this evening," Holmes quipped as she began to type up all the pertanent information she'd found into a new text document.  
"Where is the birthday boy, anyways?" Perry asked.  
"Helping Harmony with the decorations," Holmes replied without even looking up from her computer screen.

_-Now, since Harmony was good friends with the owner of the Rainbow Saloon, she managed to reserve a fucking private room for my birthday party.  
-The Rainbow Saloon is weird, even for LA, Harry.  
-Weird?  
-They have a dress code, remember?  
-Oh yeah, you couldn't get in unless you were wearing something made of fucking denim, that's right.  
-It certainly resulted in some interesting outfit choices that night.  
-Yeah, it fucking did.  
-Can you please just get on with the story, Harry?  
-Oh, it's my turn to narrate?  
-I can just about hear the audience shouting at you to get your narration in gear, Harry, so yeah, it's your turn.  
-Okay, well, my birthday party was a small affair, since Harmony (who'd declared herself to be in fucking charge of planning the party) had only invited a handful of my closest friends and colleagues._

Harry, wearing a brand new pair of jeans and a dress shirt (both bought for him by Perry), stood at the door to the private room, at the ready to greet his guests while Harmony made sure that everything--the food, the drinks (alcoholic beverages for everyone except Holmes, who didn't like alcohol very much because it made her sneeze), the decorations, and the music--was in order, her slinky, glittery blue shirt glowing in the dim lighting.  
Perry was the first to arrive, in denim slacks (he's gay, so of course he was able to find slacks made of denim) and a wine red dress shirt that would have been buttoned all the way to the collar if Holmes hadn't forced him to leave the top two buttons undone (how she managed it, she couldn't say--or more likely, wouldn't admit to). Holmes was right behind him, in her "dress jeans" (a pair of slimming dark blue jeans that she only wore for special occasions such as this party) and a sky blue blouse that Harry couldn't remember her ever wearing before (it turned out that Perry had loaned her one of Harry's dress shirts).  
"Please tell me we're not the only fucking ones coming to this party, Harry," Perry demanded.  
"Don't fucking worry, Perry, there's more people coming," Harry informed him, as Harmony's friend, Flicka, arrived, in a denim dress.  
Next to arrive was Dabney Shaw's assistant, Mary Anne Coulter, who was there representing her boss, who had a prior engagement (some other celebrity's birthday party). With her were several other women, the assistants of several of Dabney's fellow producers.  
That left Perry's police contact, Tony Morales, who had had to cancel at the last minute due to some concerned citizen reporting their neighbor missing and it turned out that said neighbor (the one reported missing) had been lying dead in a pool of (dried) blood at the foot of their stairs. But in his stead, several of the younger officers came to the party.  
Despite its small size, the party lasted nearly the entire night, fueled by the alcohol being freely served.

_-And as everyone knows, alcohol lowers your inhibitions and allows you to do things that your common sense would otherwise keep you from doing. Which is not always as bad a thing as it usually tends to be.  
-Do you fucking want to tell this story, Holmes?  
-I might as well, since your memory of what happens next is a bit hazy._

Harry's wristwatch beeped, its digital display alight with the time--"12:00"--, as he downed his seventh--or was it his eighth?--glass of some cocktail, the name of which he couldn't for the life of him remember. Not that it was of any importance to him whether he could remember its name, but Perry might want to know, he sometimes would quiz his assistant on what he ate and drank at parties, so Harry made his way drunkenly over to the bar where he had gotten the cocktail from to ask the bartender what it was he had been drinking, in case Perry wanted to know.  
But he was intercepted by a slightly less drunk Perry before he could reach the bar.

_-Perry physically fucking ran into me, Holmes. There was no intercepting going on.  
-Just shut up and let me tell the story, Harry._

Harry, painfully straight Harry Lockhart, promptly began to drunkenly grope his boss, who responded accordingly to his assistant's drunken actions before he could stop himself, his ability to restrain himself only partically supressed by the alcohol.  
"Shit, Harry, you're straight," Perry snapped.  
"But you find me attractive, don't you?" Harry challenged.  
"Yeah, but I'm _gay_," the PI observed, carefully placing emphasis on the last word. "You're as straight as they come, Harry."  
"So why are you not letting me have a little bit of fun, Gay Perry?" Harry slurred, leaning forward into Perry's chest as he spoke.  
Perry was brutually aware that everyone else at the party were looking everywhere _but_ at Harry and him, everyone except Holmes, of course. He glared at his headstrong receptionist, trying to make her uncomfortable so that she would look away, but she only returned his glare with an annoying wide-eyed look of innocence.  
Harry suddenly went limp against Perry's body and the only reason he didn't hit the floor right then and there was because Perry caught him.  
"See? You do want me and my body," Harry declared.  
Perry rolled his eyes at his drunken assistant, unwilling to verbally deny what he, deep down, wanted. He nearly jumped clean out of his skin when Harry shoved his hand down the PI's pants, though.  
A part of his mind, the part that reminded him about how wonderful Harry's mouth had felt that time he had kissed him in that alley five years ago, noted that Harry's hand in his pants had only four and a half fingers.  
"Your hips don't lie," Harry observed, making Perry wonder whether his assistant was quoting Shakira on purpose.  
The PI tried to back away from his assistant, but he found that Harry had backed him up against a wall without his knowledge. Which was probably a good thing, considering Harry had a good grip despite missing half a finger.  
A _really_ good grip, as Perry soon discovered, when Harry started massaging his boss' cock.

_-How the_ fuck _do you know that, Holmes?!  
-I was watching you two, Harry.  
-Ew, Holmes, that's messed up.  
-I was curious, Harry. Besides, I wasn't sure whether you two would be needing a quick getaway or not. I_ was _your ride that night after all, remember?_

Perry decided to give in to the inevitable at that point and let Harry ravish him in his drunken state. However, he did have the presence of mind to make a change of scenery, exchanging the semi-public setting of the Rainbow Saloon for the privacy of his bedroom.  
He caught Holmes' attention--which took a whole lot less time than he would have liked--and soundlessly informed her that they (Harry and himself) were ready to go and that they would meet her downstairs.  
She met them in the coat room about ten minutes later and informed Perry that Harmony would bring over all of Harry's gifts that afternoon (it was after midnight by this point).  
Perry had to practically carry Harry into the back seat of Holmes' car, so focused was his assistant on Perry's erection.  
As she put the key into the ignition, Holmes informed her passengers that her back seat was a virgin and that she would like for it to remain that way--and oh, make sure you're wearing your seat belts correctly as well, because bloodstains are devillishly hard to get out of carpets.

_-You actually said all that nonsense, Holmes?  
-Yeah, I did. You sound awfully surprised about that, Harry.  
-It's just that I, uh, didn't expect you to say that sort of thing, so I figured it was just the fucking alcohol talking.  
-Oh, alright, Harry....Now are you going to tell us all about what happened after I dropped the two of you off?  
-What, you don't know, Holmes?  
-Of course I don't know, I went straight home afterwards!  
-Oh, well, nothing much happened, really. No need to give me that look, Holmes, all that happened was that I gave Perry a blowjob, he passed out from the orgasm, and I fucking finally passed out from the alcohol.  
-I don't know, the following morning_ had _to have been pretty interesting, Harry.  
-Well, you can keep on wondering, Holmes, 'cause I'm fucking not telling you what happened. At least, not this time.  
-Not this time?  
-Yeah, not this time.  
-If not now, then when?  
-I don't fucking know, Holmes. Ask me again in about a week, I'll think about it._

**Author's Note:**

> This story could have been better, but I stubbornly insisted on having two narrators and room for a sequel. There's also a reference to Shakira's "Hips Don't Lie" that snuck its way into the story as well. I'm also pretty inexperienced when it comes to this sort of thing...


End file.
